Off the Grid
by Jeff Schultz
Summary: A short story providing a back story for one of the original crew members of the Nebuchadnezzar.


**Off the Grid**

by

Jeff Schultz

It had been 3 years since he officially left the proverbial grid. 3 years since he stopped carrying any form of electronically read identification since any time he passed and bank or supermarket it could read the information stored on the little black strips. 3 years since quitting his job at some large multinational corporation, and started taking the menial jobs where he was paid mostly in cash or a check made out to cash that he could cash at the corner store down the street. Three years of keeping out of the view of the all seeing government and private security firms. So how did he end up in this holding cell, sweating under hot lamps?

That fat detective has been badgering him for the past three hours. "What is your name?" Jeez. How many times has he heard that phrase? He lost count after the first hour. He knows all those cop tricks. The Good Cop/Bad Cop routine. Offering him coffee. He of course didn't drink it. He was aware that if he did two things would happen. He would eventually have to go to the bathroom, and the coffee was surely laced with some serum designed to make him feel relaxed and complacent, much like the drugs they give to dairy cattle to keep them calm around all that machinery.

The door opened and the slimmer cop came back in, bringing with him a fresh cup of coffee. Why is the skinny guy always the good cop? He remembered the skinny cops name is Jones. Why he remembered that both surprised him and made him smile a little.

"You think this is funny punk?" The fat cop looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

"Look pal," Jones was trying to be his friend again, "We can't help you if you don't help us." This caused him to smile again. This whole set up is one big cliché.

"Why don't you just tell us how this all started." Jones' voice is starting to loose its cool. "Give us your side of the story."

How did this all start anyway? Most days just run together in his life. Wake up, shower, go to the work union, eat lunch, finish work, and sleep. All this was pretty routine. All up until about a week ago. That is when he started noticing the black vans. The first 2 days he didn't pay too much attention to the vans. You see the vans every where, and it is hard to tell if they are government or not. What peaked his interest were the three vans that stayed parked in the same spots for 4 days now. While this was downtown, and people park on the street spots closest to their buildings, these vans seemed to sit lower on their suspensions that other vans on the street, like they were loaded down with lots of equipment.

He had become complacent in his tactics of avoiding routine. Why had he become lazy in his evasion tactics? He knew better than to take one route back and forth from work. He should have been randomizing his path, taking the back alleys and going up and down the subway entrances. Now he was at risk. All of his work was going to be for naught. Three years down the drain.

He didn't want to abandon his work immediately, as that would draw too much attention. Dropping his job is not a problem as being a day worker has the benefit of being hired daily, if you don't work, you don't get paid. And there are plenty of work unions in every city. One more week. He'd spend another week of preparing to pull up and move to another city. He'd done it before, he's prepared to do it again, just not so soon.

"Look pal," The fat one broke his train of thought "we don't have all day." Must he be this annoying? Maybe if he was to suggest some Krispy Kreme the cop would settle down. From the look of him he'd already finished off a dozen this morning anyway.

"Maybe it's time we call you a lawyer." That was something he absolutely didn't want. Lawyers asked more questions than cops. They also like to know more than they should. At least with the cops he could keep his mouth shut, and unless they booked him, he'd be out in a day.

"Or maybe we should just put you back in the holding cell and let you chill for a bit longer." That would be perfectly ok with him. So he smiled.

"I'll take that as a yes. Take him back to his cell Jones. We'll see if that loosens his tongue." That smirk on the cops face didn't make him feel all that good.

His cell was the typical seven by nine concrete affair, with a cold bench and a commode. "This whole thing is just a big cliché." he thought to himself as he sat on the bench and the cell door slammed shut. He sat back and thought about where he went wrong. He couldn't have been that hasty in his leaving, or had he?

After several days of switching routes and making sure that he only saw the vans minimally during the day. Which wasn't easy as they had been hanging around the work union and bus stops. He'd have to step up his timetable by a day or two. He went on with work. Showing up on time every morning, and cashing his check every day. Bought a sandwich at the stand on the corner. Never doing the same thing twice.

No, that's not right, he worked for the same crew every day. How could he be so stupid. There were plenty of crews to sign on with, why would he stay with those same people. Over the past three years he never had any connection with any of the people he worked with. He became too relaxed, had he given out any personal information that would lead to his past? What name was he using this time? He'd always made sure to use a name that wasn't anything close to his real name. There were too many questions, and he wasn't sure what the answers were, other than that he knew he had messed up, messed up royally. It was time for damage control.

"Guard! Hey, guard! Get the detective. I'm ready to talk." He was ready to talk, just not sure what he was going to say.

"Hey c'mon! It doesn't take that long to walk back here!" Another of the fat one's games. Does the cop really think making him wait really affects him at all? In truth he's been waiting for a while. In reality how long could he stay hidden from all this. Reconstructive surgery and false identities can't change your DNA. And he'd left plenty of that at various construction sites. And his name. What name was he using?

"Alright what is it?" The cop was sweating a bit, "You better not be wasting my time again." Sure you have a lot of donuts waiting for you.

"Look, I'm ready to talk. I'll tell you everything I know."

"Fine, let's start with your name." Damn.

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know." Sure he'll buy that.

"What you got amnesia or something?" What does he think this is a soap opera?

"No, I've just stopped using my real name. And after all this time I've forgotten."

"Ok, let's say for a minute I believe you. How do you forget your own name?" He's pretty dense.

"You obviously know who I am. You've been following me for weeks." Well maybe not you, but someone does.

"We've not been following you. You think we'd waste that kind of money on some street punk like you?"

"Um... What?" Street punk? I have a job you overpaid desk jockey.

"There has been a string of convenience store robberies, and you were picked out of line up by several of the shop owners."

"Why would I rob convenience stores? I have a paying job. The only thing I've ever 'stolen' are extra condiment packages from the sandwich shop."

"We have video tape of you breaking in the store front windows and taking the lotto ticket dispensers and cash registers."

His radio squawked right then. "Officer Fitzpatrick, we've just had another report of a convenience store robbery. They have the suspect in custody on scene."

"Copy that. I'm on my way. Seems you got off lucky." You don't know the half of it.

"Just a case of mistaken identity."

"The guard will let you out." He doesn't seem all that remorseful, "Take care of him will you Charlie?" Wait for it "Stay out of trouble kid, I have my eye on you." Ah, couldn't leave that one alone could you.

"Yes sir. Clean living and the straight and narrow for me." Smile and play along.

Charlie's come to let him out. He sure does have a funny look on his face.

"I'm a big admirer of your work." Uh oh.

"S'cuse me? I'm not sure I follow." Play dumb, deny everything.

"Your DoD hack revolutionized the industry."

"Sorry. You must have me confused. I'm just a day worker." This isn't going well, "Where can I pick up my personal affects?"

"It's Ok. It's a shame to have someone like you locked up in here."

Since when to public servants follow technology related affairs?

"I'm sorry. I really have no idea who you think I am. I'll just be on my way, I'm sure you have lots of work to do, guarding the real criminals and all." He can't get out of here fast enough.

"Spoofing the police ban is child's play. But you know that, Mr. Reagan. Or should I call you Cypher."


End file.
